


and i heard you

by blueacorn



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueacorn/pseuds/blueacorn
Summary: “Ryuji.”That same voice, weaving its way through his dreams; gentle, quiet.Not one he’s ever heard awake, that’s for sure. No one’s ever said his name like that.Fond, with a hint of a smile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warning: mentions of blood

_“Ryuji.”_

Dark brown eyes flicker open, eyebrows drawing together, lips curled into a frown.

“What the f- again?”

That same voice, weaving its way through his dreams; gentle, quiet.

Not one he’s ever heard awake, that’s for sure. No one’s ever said his name like that.

Fond, with a hint of a smile.

“Ugh,” he groans, fingers running roughly through limp blonde hair, “What effin’ bullshit.”

He allows himself a single yawn and stretch before reaching for his phone, flicking automatically to the group chat.

 **Ann:** Meeting at 10 today guys! Don’t forget!

With a sigh, he drops the phone back onto his bed, shaking away the last remnants of the voice in his head.

“TIme to save the world, Ryuji,” he mutters, firmly casting the dream out of his mind.

 

* * *

 

He can remember the Phantom Thieves stuff doing something for him, before. Can remember the too-loud beat of his heart in his throat as the air around them began its tell-tale warping. Can still feel the tremble in his hands, the stretch of his lips curving into a sharp grin, as he followed their leader into Palace after Palace.

Ever since the whole Shido thing, everything’s just gone... dull.

Like everything’s routine, played to a script he’s read a dozen times before.

It doesn’t help that the leader’s gone and skipped the meeting. Again.

“So, what’s our leader’s excuse this time?” he asks, leaning back in his seat, barely holding back an annoyed huff.

“No target,” Ann responds lifelessly, forehead pressed against the shop’s table, “Time better spent studying.”

“It’s the effin’ holidays! Who the hell studies during the holidays!”

“Indeed,” Yusuke supplies, peering at the back of Ann’s head through the frame made by his hands, “Although I do admire our leader’s dedication to the academic arts.”

“Yeah?” Ryuji mutters bitterly, “And what about dedication to the cause?”

“It’s called time management, idiot,” their final attendee hisses, although even he looks uncertain, paws tucked beneath his chin as he curls into Ann’s side.

“And _this_ didn’t fit into the damned schedule?”

“Stop it, Ryuji,” Ann says, lifting her head from the table, eyes downcast, “Look around. There’s more than one schedule we don’t fit into.”

It’s difficult to _not_ notice the empty spaces where people used to be; the cafe’s table feels far too spacious with just the four of them, and it leaves a knot in his throat.

“This effing sucks,” he says, hands clenching into fists on his lap, “We’re the- we’re the _Phantom Thieves,_ damn it!”

“Friendship was never a necessary factor,” Yusuke remarks calmly, arms falling to his sides. “It was an excellent bonus, but hardly-”

“This ain’t even about friendship anymore,” Ryuji spits out, every word leaving a bad taste in his mouth, “Nobody’s even really trying to look for new targets - it’s been five months since the last one, and don’t even _mention_ Mementos!”

“I did not.”

“That’s not my point!”

“Guys!”

The sound Ann’s hands make when it hits the table is painful, but she doesn’t flinch.

“We’re almost done. We’ve got to accept that. The only way forward is if- if we want to just do this ourselves. The four of us. But honestly-” she stops. Swallows. “Honestly, I don’t think I want to.”

“Ann-!”

“Lady Ann?”

“It hasn’t felt right, okay? For awhile now, it hasn’t felt _right_ , and I can’t do something I’m not sure of. I can’t force myself to do something I don’t want to. Not anymore.”

There is a beat of silence. Another, and then-

“I must agree with Ann. I can no longer find the beauty in these heists of ours.”

Anger flashes white in Ryuji’s mind, bubbling up his throat, and something in him _twists._

_Breathe._

The voice-

_Fingers trailing up his spine, words soothing in his ear, breathe with me Ryuji relax-_

He breathes.

“Morgana?” He says instead, gritting his teeth against the rage still building within him.

The unexpected echo of his dream throws him off balance, and he realises a second too late that Morgana can’t meet his gaze.

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

And with that- there is no point in resisting. It’d be too pitiful to even try.

“That’s- great, guys. This is just effing great!” Ryuji refuses to acknowledge the burning in his eyes, in his chest as he stands, slamming a fist down on the table, “So it’s over then, fine. See you guys, well, fucking never, I guess!”

And he leaves, not looking back, the same way he leaves the sick relief buried under his fury.

 

* * *

 

It’s painfully easy to slip back into a life without the Phantom Thieves. He never checks his phone for messages that aren’t there, he stops scrolling through websites for possible targets, he no longer looks at people and wonder if he’d helped save any of their lives.

Everything had just... stopped.

Except the dreams.

The voice was clearer now, the images sharper.

_A half-smile, warm hand in his, soft breath against his ear, lips brushing against his cheek._

_“Ryuji.”_

_Affectionate, wistful, urging._

He always wakes with a scowl, disgust thick in his throat.

Was he so desperate now? That words he’d never hear, things he’d never feel would begin tormenting him in his dreams?

Only in his first few waking moments, only minutes after his dream does he reach for his phone, thumb hovering over his messages. He never finds someone he wants to talk to, lets his phone slip through his fingers, draws his knees up to his chin, and breathes.

For a moment, he lets the voice return, lets the voice soothe him.

He can hate himself after.

 

* * *

 

He spends most of his free time at the arcade now, as he used to do before- everything.

There isn’t much he wants to do anymore, and he’s just _tired._

Tired enough that when his phone buzzes in his pocket, he isn’t surprised. Until he sees an incoming call from ‘Leader’.

He’d be less surprised to get a call from Morgana, to be honest; even with those paws.

He clears his throat, lets the irritation rise, and answers.

“Yeah?”

“Ryuji.”

Polite, apologetic, distant.

“Yeah.”

“About the meeting-”

So that’s how it’s going to go.

“Nothing. And there won’t be anything. It’s over. The Phantom Thieves are done.”

“...I see,” a quiet breath, “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, “‘Course, you were the one that started it.”

“Excuse me?” angry now, defensive, “I had work to do. I’m not as free as-”

“As us dumb high school students, yeah, I know. We done? There ain’t any reason to talk now, right?”

“I suppose there isn’t.”

Ryuji laughs, a short, bitter laugh.

“Well then. Goodbye, Makoto- No, sorry. I meant _Niijima_.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he hangs up, contenting himself with merely imagining his fist hitting the wall and coming away bloody.

Everything’s over now. For real.

He wishes he knew why everything still felt so wrong.

 

* * *

 

His dream that night is- strange.

It either really is a dream, or time travel.

It seems too real to be a dream, but even after all the weird things he’s seen, he’s still reluctant to believe spontaneous time travel would be one of them.

When he sees Ann getting into the bastard Kamoshida’s car, and can’t yell, “You don’t have to do this shit!”, he wonders if it’s just an intense flashback.

But then, he hears the voice.

He turns, panting from his run, and sees messy black hair falling against the dark frame of glasses.

Wide grey eyes blink at him, and-

This is all wrong.

He’d been alone. He knows- he’d turned away from the sight of the bastard’s car speeding away and made his way to school. And found a Palace.

Alone.

 _Who are you?_ He wants to ask, but this- this has to be a dream, and he has no control.

“What do you want?” he asks instead, and continues, against his will, “You planning on ratting me out to Kamoshida?”

None of this makes _sense_ , and he’s willing to beat against the walls of his mind until it lets him ask the real questions. It hadn’t happened like this. He knows. He’s _sure_.

“Kamoshida?”

And it _is_ the voice. The voice he’s been hearing in his dreams; gentle, quiet, patient. Though it lacks the fondness it had, replaced instead by curiosity.

_Tell me who you are-!_

“Huh? In that car just now, it was Kamoshida.”

He sees a phone held in the guy’s hand, and none in his own, which is-

Not right.

He’d been fussing with the weird app that’d appeared on his phone, and he’d been muttering under his breath, hadn’t he? Saying the same things he was saying now.

“He does whatever the hell he wants. Who does he think he is - the king of the castle? Don’t you agree?”

No, he hadn’t asked... there had been no one to ask.

“Which castle?”

Bewildering affection bursts in his chest at the question, and he _doesn’t understand._

“No, I mean- You don’t know Kamoshida? For real?”

His dream shifts then, the dull fall of rain giving way to a familiar dungeon.

Only, the guy was here again, pressed up against the wall, expression pained.

“A peasant like you isn’t worth beating.”

_Damn it, not this shit again-!_

“I’ll have you killed right now.”

He remembers this. Remembers the rage surging up within him, remembers the lone, burning thought. _I can’t die here._

And the voice within him, speaking any second now - _I am thou. Thou art-_

“Stop it!”

_What?_

“Hm?”

_The fuck-_

“What...? Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know who I am. That look in your eyes irritates me!”

A thump, and a muffled grunt.

“Hold him there... After the peasant, it’s his turn to die.”

_Damn it, damn it! Captain Kidd, where the hell are you?!_

Ugly laughter echoes in the cell as Kamoshida turns back to Ryuji.

_Captain-_

A cold, armoured hand wraps around his throat, tightening, as he’s dragged up the wall.

The boy _screams._

And screams, and screams, and Ryuji can’t do this, not without his persona. He can’t die, not him, the person who was never meant to be here. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Execute him!”

_I’m so sorry- damn it! I’m sorry!_

“I will stop you.”

The pressure abruptly releases, and he gasps for breath. Kamoshida’s talking, saying something Ryuji can’t quite make out over the sound of his own heartbeat. He collapses, wincing, and his eyes wrench open, vision blurry from tears.

Even still, he can’t miss it.

Fingers scrabbling at a mask, ripping it away, blood dripping down pale skin.

A manic grin, blue flame retreating, vicious chains cast away.

A persona.

_What the hell-?!_

And the dream shifts once more.

It’s- everything. All over again. Escaping the cell, finding Morgana, leaving the Palace.

Except the guy - Akira, he suddenly thinks, as if he remembers - is everywhere.

Meeting him on the rooftop, catching him by the school gate, walking the route countless times to find the palace again.

Then, Morgana and Akira on the ground, wounded, surrounded.

Captain Kidd’s voice finally resounds in his mind, a contract sealed.

Not alone, and not the first. Not like he’d thought.

It goes on, leaving the dungeon again-

_catching on an alleyway, “...there’s no way I can just sit back!” and confident, wide eyes warm, “Of course.”_

_in the ramen place, sweat running down his neck as he scarfs down the noodles, Akira at the edge of his vision all elegance and grace, clearly not eating- “...you barely touched your food!” met with an amused chuckle, “What are you doing?”_

-trying to gather evidence of the abuses,

_Ann, arms crossed, confrontational. Anger coursing through his veins. “Whaddya want with him?”_

-hearing out Morgana’s dumb idea, the one that’d started it all.

 _“His desires would go too,”_ _wonder, excitement._

Then, one by one, gathering around him like moths to a flame, Ann, Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba, Haru.

And, in between,

_The rhythmic thumps of shoes hitting track, even breaths beside him, sweat-damp dark hair, flush pale skin._

_“Calm down, Ryuji.”_

_and_

_“Are you worried about him?”_

_As if Ryuji being worried meant he had to be worried too._

_“Hangin’ out with you guys is so freakin’ cool!” his head tilts with a confused laugh, but his gaze still so warm-_

 

* * *

 

_“I guess being free is like... It’s like how I feel when I’m talking to you, man.”_

_He’s met with genuine confusion, furrowed brows._

_“I don’t get it,” hesitant, unsure._

_He freezes, flustered._

_“Uh, I don’t know what else I gotta say. I just... feel free.”_

_“...Huh?”_

_The ridiculousness of the situation catches up with him, how he can’t get his feelings across, how adorably perplexed Akira looks, how laughter is bubbling up in his chest, lips stretched in a happy, happy grin._

 

* * *

 

_“You were pushing me to be cool that whole time. It’s kinda like I was doing a sprint... and you were running next to me.”_

_The answering smile is small, but no less bright, and the warmth in Ryuji’s chest responds just the same. Not for the first time, he realises, he wants to reach out. Trace every line, feel him the way he sees him._

 

* * *

 

_His heart pounds in his chest, his throat refuses to swallow, but he has to get the words out-_

_“There’s a place for you, here. With me. Right next to me.”_

_Grey eyes widen, and Ryuji flushes, finishing off with a half-hearted mutter, “Or maybe ahead? Something like that.”_

_“Ryuji.”_

_That’s the one. The voice that calls his name with affection and a smile, gentle even in happiness._

_Ryuji looks up._

_“Right next to you sounds good.”_

_He makes a strange, strangled noise and Akira bursts into bright laughter._

 

* * *

 

_“You never abandoned me.”_

_His arm brushes Akira’s with every step they take, and his fingers trail along Akira’s sleeve, the furthest he dares to go with the street as crowded as it is._

_He casts a glance to his side to find Akira already watching him, half-smile on his lips. Ryuji huffs out a laugh and bumps him gently._

_“Quit smilin’ like that,”_

_“I’m happy.”_

_“And I’m happy you’re happy, dude, but we can’t just be smilin’ at each other for no damned reason.”_

_“Ryuji, so far, you’re the only one complaining.”_

_Ryuji rolls his eyes, but the smile won’t disappear._

_“Whatever you want, man.”_

_Akira hums in response, and Ryuji tangles their fingers together briefly, quickly, the fondness in his chest almost suffocating._

 

* * *

 

_The scent of coffee is strong in the cafe, and Akira is standing behind the counter, tying on the apron._

_Ryuji slides onto a chair, grinning._

_“Welcome,” Akira begins, bowing, “What can I get for you, sir?”_

_“What’s your specialty?”_

_“Coffee. It’s also my only recipe.”_

_“Dude!” Ryuji snickers, “I’m calling bullshit on that one; what about the curry you said you were learning?”_

_Akira winces, sheepish, “You don’t want to try that yet, please trust me.”_

_“Alright, alright. Coffee it is then.”_

_He hates coffee, but with Akira, he’ll probably learn to love it._

_The cup Akira sets in front of him looks... like coffee, and he wishes he could say more about it, but that’s all he knows._

_“Ryuji,” Akira says, “Do you want to know the secret ingredient; special for you?”_

_He hums, questioning, as he brings the cup to his lips, and just as he takes a sip-_

_“Love.”_

_Ryuji chokes._

_“Dude!”_

 

* * *

 

_He’s shaking._

_It’s pathetic, it’s ridiculous; he wasn’t the one arrested, so why-_

_“Ryuji.”_

_“Your wounds- How bad are they?”_

_“Ryuji.”_

_“Just tell me, damn it! Fuck, what the fuck-”_

_Arms wrap around him. Warm, secure, but not restraining, never restraining._

_“I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay. We’re alive.”_

_“It’s not okay! Of course it’s not freaking okay! You getting this hurt wasn’t in the plan, Akira!”_

_He twists out of the grip, and although Akira frowns, he backs away._

_“Plans change.”_

_“Don’t- don’t act like this doesn’t matter.”_

_“It doesn’t. It all worked out.”_

_“Are you kidding me?! So you’re what, gonna just shove this under a rug somewhere and forget about it?”_

_Akira’s voice, for the first time, is distant when he replies._

_“Yes. I don’t- I don’t need to keep thinking about it, Ryuji.”_

_And Ryuji stops. Looks at Akira for the first time since stepping into his room. Sees the slight tremor he’d missed. The too-wide eyes, the way he’s almost imperceptibly curled into himself._

_“Fuck,” he says, voice thick, “Fucking- Akira.”_

_Akira folds into his embrace quickly, easily, as if he’s been waiting for it. Ryuji can’t help with much. He can’t say the perfect thing to get Akira to confide in him, he can’t go back in time and beat the hell out of the officers who fucking dared-_

_He can’t do anything else, and so, for now, he just holds Akira._

 

* * *

 

_“Ryu- Ryuji.”_

_This time, he’s not the one shaking. This time, he is the one to step up to Akira and pull him into his arms to quell it._

_“I thought-”_

_“I know, I’m sorry.”_

_Akira pulls him closer, breaths uneven, and ear pressed firmly to Ryuji’s chest._

_“I’m here, Akira,” Ryuji whispers, pressing a kiss to dark hair._

_He regrets scaring Akira, but not what he did. He’d felt Akira straighten at the sight of the boat, heard his lips part to tell them his plan._

_But he couldn’t let him do it. Not when there was something he could do this time. So he’d pushed forward, hand brushing reassuringly against Akira’s hip as he moved._

_Ryuji was the fastest, after all. If he couldn’t do it, no one could._

 

* * *

 

_Panic, fear, the damned voice-!_

_“Mementos and reality have become one.”_

_He’s fading, he can feel it. He turns to Akira, eyes wild, pleading._

_“Thus, those who have disappeared from cognition cannot exist anywhere.”_

_He reaches out-_

_“ **RYUJI!**_ ”

_And disappears._

 

* * *

 

Ryuji wakes.

And remembers.

How had they- how had _he_ forgotten-?

Their leader, their _true_ leader. Joker’s sharp grin, Akira’s gentle laughter.

What the hell had happened?!

His thoughts can’t settle, his mind in violent chaos. He’s not- He can’t-

He just needs-

“ _Akira-!”_


	2. Chapter 2

Akira wakes.

He wakes to the remnants of a dream that slip away faster than he can reach out.

He wakes to a memory of a voice he’s sure he’s never heard before, and yet-

An alarm blares.

It’s swiftly slapped and silenced, the sullen quiet it leaves behind ringing in his ears.

He opens his eyes with a sigh, blinking away the image of wooden beams he strangely expects. He’s met instead by the more reasonable blank ceiling. He shakes his head and casts his gaze away, searching, unwilling to hope.

There is familiar stillness beyond his door, and the responding ache in his chest is almost comforting in its reliability.

“Good morning,” he breathes quietly, then, softer, as if in reply, “Good morning.”

He rises then, padding out of his room and into the bathroom, a low hum of a song he isn’t sure he didn’t make up filling his thoughts.

He looks into the mirror, lips curling at the dark rings under his eyes, stark against his too-pale skin. Another memory surfaces, stronger, real.

The woman’s cries, the man’s harsh commands.

_“Get in that car right now!”_

_“Let me go!”_

Something rises in his throat, thrums in his veins, under his skin, and he turns away from the mirror now the way he’d turned away then.

(He’s sure he imagines the shadow that seemed to flicker across his face.)

* * *

Breakfast is a simple egg on rice, and coffee far thinner than he’d expected. He wonders if the powder had been past its expiry date, aging helplessly in the single sad sachet hidden in the shadowy corners of the cabinet.

It’s bland. Everything’s just... bland.

* * *

The trudge to school is a literal uphill climb, and his blue blazer looks wrong against the white of his shirt, silver buttons catching the early morning light, glaring harshly into his eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head as he presses forward, willing the haze to clear from his mind. His knuckles brush against his phone, tucked safely into his pocket, and he’s struck by the urge to check for messages he knows will not be there.

He reaches up instead to push up glasses he’s never worn, and has to resist the frustration that threatens to overwhelm him when he ends up pressing against his nose.

“Today,” he thinks, resigned, “is not a good day.” 

* * *

Nothing proves him wrong, but nothing proves him right.

His mind dredges up knowledge to weird questions he hadn’t realised he’d known, that really no one should have known, and he finds himself disappointed when no one reacts with any form of surprise.

When lunchtime comes, he makes his way to the rooftop and looks up at the sky, wondering if he’s still dreaming.

The bell rings and he returns to class, secure in the knowledge that if this was a dream he wouldn’t be giving himself homework at the end of the day.

* * *

He gets homework. 

* * *

Dinner is the same as breakfast, this time with two extra servings set aside for his parents’ return.

He heads up to his room.

He does his homework.

He contemplates reading a book.

( _Let’s not do that today.)_

He sleeps.

* * *

_A door slams open, muted bell ringing uselessly._

_The scent of coffee and curry painfully familiar._

_Pounding footsteps, an annoyed snap._

_“Hey! You’re not allowed up the- damn it!”_

_Harsh pants, wide eyes searching desperately._

_“Akira?”_

_“Who?”_

* * *

Akira wakes.

He dresses.

He eats.

He leaves.

He returns.

He sleeps.

* * *

_“I think I’d know if someone’s been living in my attic, kid, now get the hell out.”_

_“You took care of him! For months!”_

_“What? Are you high?!”_

_“No! Shit, what the hell is this?!”_

* * *

He sleeps.

* * *

_“You taught him all about coffee, about your special curry! Joker! The leader of the Phantom Thieves-”_

_“I don’t know what you’re-”_

_“-you gave him Kohryuu-”_

_A pulse, and a grunt of pain._

_“Wha- what’s going on?”_

_Silence. For a moment, two._

_Then-_

_“You remember.”_

_“How,” rasping, helpless, “did I forget?”_

* * *

He sleeps.

* * *

_Seven gathered around a worn table. A space left, obvious, unintended._

_Names listed, desperate, urgent._

_Hecate. Mercurius. Kamu Susanoo. Anat. Prometheus. Astarte._

_Breaths caught, a fog cast away._

_A single word murmured, almost as one._

_“Joker-!”_

* * *

He sleeps.

* * *

_“Akira, where are you?”_

* * *

The circles under his eyes have gotten darker.

Trembling fingers hover over them, irrationally afraid to touch.

“Weird,” he murmurs dully, letting his hand fall to his side, but then-

He hisses, eyes drawn to the reddened skin of a finger that couldn’t possibly have been scratched, and yet-

Hands rise once more. They stop before widened eyes, reaching out.

“I felt-”

And he did. Fingertips millimetres from his skin, stopped in their tracks by... _something._

Struck by a sudden panic, he rips his hands away from the invisible barrier and doubles over, gasping for breath.

“No,” he swallows, “I must’ve imagined-”

Then there is a pulse, and something in his brain _screams._

_Unmask, Joker._

“No-”

_Unmask!_

“I can’t!”

_**Unmask!** _

He scrabbles at the mask, and _pulls_.

* * *

“Joker.”

Akira _wakes._

A figure clad in red and darkness looms before him, head tilted almost as if in curiosity.

“Who are you?” he asks, alarm failing to rise within him.

“I am thou,” the figure replies calmly, “Thou art I.”

* * *

_“I shall grant you an opportunity to make a deal with me.”_

_“What is this deal?”_

* * *

“Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice,” Akira murmurs, words branded into his being.

* * *

_“Should you wish it, I shall return the world to its prior state - one rampant with distorted masses. The Phantom Thieves will be praised and gain fame. The world will escape ruin as well. What say you?”_

_“I refuse.”_

_“Such irredeemable foolishness. You choose death for yourself-”_

* * *

“Call upon my name-”

* * *

_Then Igor smiles, sudden, dark._

_“You would, wouldn’t you?” He laughs, loud and sharp, “Another proposal, then. The world as it was, without my interference.”_

* * *

“And release thy rage!”

* * *

_Akira’s eyes narrow, head tilted forward, lips drawn back in a frown._

_“In return for?”_

_“Joker’s existence.”_

* * *

“ **Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou be chained to hell itself!** ”

Gloved hands clench into fists, dark eyes narrow, lips curl back in a snarl.

Joker throws his head back on a howl of fury, Arsene’s wings unfurling.

_“That fucker!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing...... is spending 15 minutes...... thinking of a pun name for potted plant...... an dno t using it bc the entire chapter got redone.....
> 
> deleted scene bc i am bitter
> 
> (Akira’s hand in his, tugging gently as the cafe door closes behind them. A soft tuft of dark hair curling affectionately against a pink ear-
> 
> “Dude, are you blushing?”
> 
> Ryuji’s incredulity breaks the silence and the fragile surreality of the moment, haze abruptly clearing from his mind as Akira stiffens. 
> 
> “...No,” he says, even as a reddened cheek turns towards him.
> 
> “I’ve been in your room before!” 
> 
> “Which is why I’m not embarrassed!”
> 
> “Akira,” Ryuji grins, laughter bubbling in his chest, “man, you’re totally embarrassed!”
> 
> “Stop-”)
> 
> “-it! Hey, kid! You’re not allowed up- shit!”
> 
> The same steps, same creaks, but-
> 
> Nothing else.
> 
> Just dust, musty books, and garbage.
> 
> There’s no shelf, filled to the brim with various gifts and books. No inexplicable chocolate fountain tucked into the corner. Even the plant Akira had spent far too much on-
> 
> (“Sir Plants-a-pot.”
> 
> “Dude, what?”
> 
> “I thought it was a good name.”)
> 
> Gone.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to write something for this pairing for ages, and i'm glad i finally got some inspiration for it! ngl it was inspired by p4's marie's disappearing act - i was like: what if.
> 
> thank you for reading, and i hope ya'll liked it!


End file.
